Jealousy
by SiobhanP
Summary: Roger has issues and Joanne can't let go of the past. Maureen and Mark are doing their best, but what happens when things come to a head?


It started completely innocently. One otherwise unremarkable Thursday afternoon, Maureen had failed in her attempts to distract Joanne from her paperwork and gotten bored. Ten minutes of mindless television later, she'd decided to visit Mark and Roger. It was natural enough. They were her friends, and even though she couldn't find him attractive any more she couldn't help but retain a particular soft spot for Mark. Roger was himself again, besides his ego being taken down a few pegs, and when he wasn't depressed and depressing she really did enjoy his company.

She didn't find anything unusual. Mark and Roger had been lazing around in boxers, bitching about the heat even through being wound around one another like they were couldn't have helped. Roger was chain-smoking and Mark was drinking Pepsi by the gallon, stealing the odd puff from one of Roger's cigarettes rather than lighting his own. There was a sweet-pungent scent lingering in the air and a roach in their ashtray. Maureen immediately thought of cats, lackadaisical and focussed entirely on their own pleasure.

"You're like cats," Maureen told them, never good at containing her thoughts. "Giant cats. Well, Mark's probably closer to a kitten."

Roger's eyes narrowed. "What the hell?" he demanded, his voice shaking with laughter at Mark's expression. He was pouting, but there was enough surprise in his eyes to make it obvious it wasn't a forced look.

Maureen giggled. "Oh, pookie," she cooed brightly, leaning in over Roger to kiss the top of Mark's head. "I didn't mean anything by that. You're just smaller and cuter and less smelly than Roger."

"Hey!" Roger protested.

Maureen wrinkled her nose. "Mind you, neither of you is exactly rosy right now. God, if you're going to be this lazy you could at least shower."

Mark sniffed at his own armpit, then Roger's shoulder, close enough to tell but far enough to have have some protection if it really was that bad. "I don't smell anything."

"Yeah, because you two have been cooped up in here together forever!" Maureen cried. "Your house smells like BO, why would you smell it on yourselves?"

Roger grunted, relaxing against the arm of the couch again and tugging Mark against his chest. "Fine. If it's that bad, I take it you won't mind leaving so we can shower?"

"If I didn't think you were going to sleep or fuck instead, yes," Maureen replied lightly. "But since I do, how about you go get clean and Marky and I catch up?"

Roger grunted again, shaking his head. Mark squirmed in his grasp uncomfortably. "Um… Rog?" he said apologetically. "From this position, I kind of get what she means. You are about due."

"Mm…" Roger murmured with ill-grace, sitting up. He gave Mark an enticing look that was threatened slightly by a smirk. He squeezed Mark's ass, and Maureen and Mark made about the same sound, a small surprised squeak. "You want to come with me?"

"Ew!" Maureen shrieked finally, slapping Roger's back. The sharp sound of skin on skin and Roger's sudden wince were enough to tell it had hurt, and Roger jumped up.

"Jesus fuck," he swore with feeling, groping unsuccessfully for the spot Maureen had hit. He clenched his jaw, turning to Maureen. "Mo," he breathed heavily, "you have five seconds."

Maureen scoffed. "I could kick your skinny ass with both hands behind my back, Davis."

Mark watched the ensuing standoff with interest. Roger was genuinely seething while Maureen was struggling not to giggle. Finally, Roger turned on his heel and walked in the direction of the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, "Whatever. I'm not beating up a woman." He turned around, smirking. "Not even a dyke."

Maureen clasped both hands to her heart dramatically. "Roger, that cuts deep, you know," she said, almost convincing until her lips twitched and she finished, "especially from such an illustrious fag as yourself."

"Maureen!" Roger spluttered, looking genuinely taken aback.

Maureen shrugged. "Okay, yeah, I know you like pussy. But you're awfully fond of Mark to be taking exception to me saying you like cock, too. I mean…" Maureen shrugged, pointing out, "I know Mark's not hiding a vagina under those boxers. If he were, we'd probably still be together."

Roger scowled, his anger returning. "I guess it's a good thing for Mark he's not, huh?" he spat before retreating to the shower.

Mark looked at Maureen with wide eyes, startled. "Maureen…"

Maureen giggled. "He'll get over it, pookie," she assured him. "That's just how we are. Roger's got a short fuse, but it doesn't take him long to move on. Well, not from little things like that. Besides, if he's going to call me a dyke with that much malice, the only reason it's okay is because he's fucking you, so he better not be surprised when I call him the same thing."

"He's not, though," Mark protested. "And neither am I. Well, I'm half there, but I'm not."

Maureen grinned. "Oh, believe me, Mark," she purred, sitting down beside him and brushing his knee with her hand a little too deliberately. "I know that. And if you know what you're doing half as well with a penis, I'd wager Roger's a very happy man. Shame getting laid doesn't make him any less high strung."

Mark started. Maureen flirting was nothing new, even if it was still a little painful to brush her off, but this was the first time she'd assured him her suddenly changed sexuality hadn't had anything to do with him. "Oh, well…" he hesitated, finding nothing to say. "Thanks," he blurted, feeling stupid.

Maureen snickered. "Not at all," she replied. "But I can't believe he's still so jealous."

"Huh?"

"Oh, don't pretend you haven't noticed," Maureen said cheerily. "I mean, with Mimi… he was still being bull-headed, but at least he had an excuse. She was a stripper. You, you're… you! You're too meek to cheat on him in the first place, and if by some miracle or combination of high-powered liquor you actually did, you'd be too guilty to keep it from him."

"Maureen, he's not usually like that. Just with…" Mark stopped himself. Just with you, he'd meant to finish. Mark still loved Maureen on some level, just as Roger always would April and Mimi. Maureen was gay, and to Mark she was almost as untouchable as she would have been had she been out of the picture completely. Roger, who still had to see Mark tense up when Maureen touched him, even if it was almost imperceptibly, couldn't understand that. All he saw was Mark's expression softening when she walked into a room, even though he never noticed that Mark reacted the same way for him, except that he didn't try to hide it. It was never a point of contention between them, because Mark understood, but he couldn't help but feel a tad stung, no matter how irrational it was. He could even understand him not entirely trusting Maureen – queer or not, she didn't have the best track record – but surely he couldn't really believe Mark would ever… could he?

Still, Mark had to defend him. "Roger's… he never used to be like that. You know. You have to. I mean, he and April loved each other, but they were as good as polygamous."

"Doesn't change that he's possessive as hell now," Maureen said casually.

"He was always possessive. April was his, he was just willing to share. I think jealous was what you were looking for."

"Right, but that's just worse," Maureen complained. "I mean… Mark, I'm sorry, but I don't want you. And even if I did… I couldn't do that to Roger." Mark quirked an eyebrow, skeptical. "I do have some morals, you know," she huffed. "I don't think you'd ever do it anyway, but… it would kill him. It really would. He might be fucked up, but he loves you. And he trusts you, that's why you don't fight like he did with Mimi. He just doesn't trust other people."

Mark shook his head. "It's not people he doesn't trust," he said with certainty. "It's either himself or the world. He doesn't trust himself not to screw things up again, and he doesn't trust the world not to fall down around him. He's… lost a lot. April, Mimi, any certainty he ever had about his health…"

"None of it was entirely his fault, that's not what I'm saying," Maureen disclaimed before saying, "but as long as he's careful, nothing like that is ever going to happen again. Neither of you has much taste for needles or razor blades any more, after all."

"He got himself back on his feet and Mimi died, Maureen," Mark muttered. "Not only did he have nothing whatsoever to do with that, but he did everything he could to prevent it. I know that from a logical perspective, there's no reason for that to make him paranoid, but… after coming through withdrawal and depression and bereavement and figuring out you're dying, logic might not hold much water with you, either. If we don't fight about it, I don't see why anyone needs to talk about it."

"Well… think about it," Maureen said pointedly. "If it's changing how he acts, he has to be thinking about it. He has to be feeling something. And even if you know he trusts you, it has to bother you a little that he's like this."

Mark shook his head. "It doesn't, really," he insisted. "The longer his life stays stable, the more he'll heal. He… seems happy, so I'm probably helping, but I don't think I can do anything more. But Maureen, Roger the way you remember him… That's gone. He's been through a lot. He's not so cocky, he's grown up a little."

"I've known him since he was eight years old! I don't care what's happened, I've never done anything to hurt him; he should know I wouldn't!"

"He does," Mark said firmly. "He knows all of it, Maureen. He just… can't. At least he knows enough to keep it under wraps, for the most part."

"Well—" Maureen began to say, stopping when Roger emerged dripping from the bathroom, a towel around his waist. She wrinkled her nose. "Cover up, would you?"

Roger shrugged lazily, evidently relaxed by the hot water. "You've seen me in less," he pointed out, sitting on the armchair.

Maureen huffed, "Doesn't mean I want to now. But anyway, Joanne should be done by now. I'm going to go home. We should have dinner tomorrow."

"All right," Mark agreed uncertainly, unable to shake the feeling she was leaving for another reason entirely. "Bye, Maureen. Tell Joanne hi."

"Yeah," Roger assented, waving, "seeya."

"Bye, boys," Maureen replied, flouncing out the door energetically. Mark smiled slightly to himself at her manner, but he couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding in his gut.

* * *

"Hi, honey," Maureen called, kicking off her boots. "I'm home! Mark and Roger send love."

She turned her head, and as if out of nowhere, Joanne appeared in front of her, holding a small pink package in the air. "Maureen," she began too-calmly. "What is this?"

Maureen examined it. "My birth control," she realized after a moment.

"Mhm," Joanne agreed with a nod, clenching her jaw. "And why, may I ask, do you need that?"

Maureen's stomach dropped. "Honey, I swear, it's not what you think. I just…"

"Then why were you hiding them?"

"Putting them in my underwear drawer is not hiding them!" Maureen protested. "I remember to take them better when I leave them there!"

Joanne crossed her arms over her chest. "Maureen…. Why were you taking them?"

"I…" Maureen hesitated. "I get terrible acne, okay?! That's all it is!"

Joanne sighed. "I thought we'd gotten through all this," she muttered.

"We have," Maureen insisted. "Or I thought we had! But if you don't believe me, then I guess we haven't!"

"How can you expect me _to_ believe you?"

"If I stopped taking them you'd have to," Maureen declared. "I'd get greasy and pimply. But I'm not going to; you should trust me! Even if I were cheating, which I'm not, I'm gay! I'm a lesbian! I'm…" Maureen stopped, spluttering. "I'm a raging dyke! I wouldn't be worried about getting pregnant!"

Joanne raised a hand, stopping her. "Maureen, enough. I… need some time to think."

"To think," Maureen echoed flatly, staring at her blankly. "You know what? Don't bother. I'm going out. I'll be back when I'm back." She crammed her feet into her boots, zipped them up, and stormed out.

After her back, Joanne called, "Maureen—"

The door slammed, and Joanne took her temples between thumb and forefinger, sliding down the wall to sit curled in a ball against it. Whatever she'd thought she'd had herself ready for, it wasn't this.


End file.
